Lonely on the Heights
by Gabion
Summary: B'lan is alone, or so he thinks, until he takes an interest in the disfigured boy living in the Weyr who is pursuing his own goals.
1. Chapter 1

How lonely can a dragonrider be? I mean, he has his dragon, he has friends in the Weyr, and he has his duties. But sometimes, perhaps, those are not enough.

Pern is not in my ownership, but I like to add to the story, like the facets of a dragon's eye, bits and pieces for others to read.

B'lan leaned up on an elbow, blinking against the fierce western sunset; something had moved in the corner of his vision.

Using his wide brimmed hat to shade his eyes, he saw a small figure zig-zagging up the path from the Weyr. If the youth wanted to get to the Heights, he or she would have to pass the blue dragonrider sprawled across the path, his head in shadow, his legs baking in the last of the day's heat.

B'lan sank back to his resting place, using his hat to cushion the back of his head. He was not interested in weyr brats, or weyrlings, come to that. He was not interested in anything at this black moment of his life.

"'Scuse me, rider, 'scuse me."

B'lan raised his head again. The small figure had made his way up the path, and now stood in front of him; a boy, skinny, gangling, with scruffy clothes and shoes. A shock of yellow hair was dampened by sweat that had trickled down his face, making rivulets that looked like tear tracks. B'lan thought there were tear tracks as well.

"Where are you off to, youngster? Nothing up there but the rimwall."

"Yes. I'm going up there."

"Why? Going to jump off, pretend you can fly?"

The boy had steadied himself with a hand on the rock wall, cocked his head to one side, and B'lan realised he was blind in one eye. That made him a weyrbrat not a weyrling, therefore none of his concern. He sank down again and closed his own eyes.

"Nothing to do with me," he muttered.

"No, it isn't, dragonrider, but I'm not going to jump. There's some red ochre up there, I want it for scribing."

"Scribing. Writing, you mean? What d'you write?"

"I'm doing some copying work for ma. When pa died, he left a lot of old hide records, and I want to copy them."

"Where did he die? Was he a rider?"

"No, he had a wagon, and we travelled, traded, bought and sold."

"At Igen? In this desert?"

"There's always thing to trade, even if it's only to other wagons. He died two years ago and ma and me ended up in the Weyr - they gave us a place to live and work."

B'lan leaned up on one elbow again and studied the boy. About 15 Turns, he thought, his voice just beginning to hint at breaking. Too little food and too much work, he thought accurately, and the boy was outgrowing his strength by the look of it.

"Red ochre. Up there? Come on, I'll come with you. There's a couple of treacherous bits of this path - but you know that, I expect? What's your name?"

"Andeen, I'm called. You're B'lan, aren't you? You ride blue Derenth?"

"Yes, that's who I am. How did you know?"

Andeen cocked his head to see him properly.

"I know all the dragonriders and their dragons," he replied.

"Big boast!"

B'lan punched his hat into shape and crammed it on his head, brushed dust from his clothing, and followed the boy. Having had time for a breather, he was moving along the path with agility, but picking his footfalls with care to avoid the crumble of freshly fallen stones and dust. In the dark drear hours before dawn B'lan had often heard the crack and crump of stone falling after being heated and cooled repeatedly by the harsh unforgiving heat of the sun in this hot spine of land holding Igen Weyr.

The came to the top of the rimwall and Andeen picked up a bone tool and began picking at the rockface.

"That's more than you've dug out," B'lan observed.

"I think people've been digging at this since Igen was founded," Andeen replied. "I've found old broken picks, and some greasy marks as if they used candles for light."

"I wouldn't fancy coming up here in the dark!"

Andeen looked over his right shoulder, his left blind eye hidden.

"No, nor would I. But in times past, Turns ago, the path mightn't have been so treacherous."

B'lan stared at the rimwall, around at the bowl of the Weyr, across at the Star Stones.

"No," he said slowly. "No, in times past it wasn't so - eroded. So - denuded. There used to be a tree over there, but I suppose the cleft it was in, that must have trapped a bit of good soil, slid down into the valley."

Andeen sat back on his heels and looked up at the man. B'lan was a big man, strongly muscled, with a darkly tanned face, unruly dark hair, hair on his bare arms. But his clothing was a hotchpotch of roughly washed unironed garments. The best thing he wore was a leather belt, but even that was rubbed with age and use, with a metal buckle that was bent in one corner as if he had used it as a hammer for something.

"Sorry," Andeen said. "I didn't think, when I said that. You knew it back then - 400 Turns ago - didn't you?"

"Yes. Only three years in the past for me."

Andeen turned back to the rockface and dug out several large lumps of rock, putting them into a bag he hauled from his pocket, pulling the laces closed. He hid the pick in the hole he had made, and stood up.

Both of them stood looking into the west as the sun sank in fiery splendour, reflecting off the colours of the desert before it faded into darkness.

"I never saw it like that before I started coming up here," Andeen said softly. "Out in the desert you just get nightfall as sudden as snapping your fingers. They say that further north - Benden say - you get long hours of evening light."

"So they say. I've never been that far north."

The sun had sunk below the horizon now, and shadows fell across the path down to the bowl of the Weyr. B'lan put a hand on Andeen's shoulder as he turned to go down.

"No need for that, youngster. You could break an ankle or fall off the path."

"I can't stay up here all night!"

B'lan laughed, and looked surprised he had done so.

"No need at all. Here he comes."

With a rush and whisper of displaced air, a blue dragon materialised on the rim wall, balancing itself by clasping the rock with its huge claws. Multi-facetted eyes examined the two humans who were tiny by comparison.

"He's - huge - " Andeen whispered. "Must be nearly as big as a Brown!"

"So they say," B'lan admitted. "Here, Derenth, are you strong enough to take both of us back to the weyr?"

_- you weigh nothing, compared to firestone_

B'lan grinned at his life's companion, heartened in a way by his response, and led Andeen over to Derenth's shoulder, boosting him up to sit where a harness would normally be tied and looped.

"Hang onto me, youngster," he said.

"Isn't it dangerous to fly without harness?"

B'lan hesitated, staring out over the desert.

"Yes," he said slowly at last. "Yes, and I shouldn't ride without one. But Derenth will be careful enough for both of us, as usual."

_- I am always careful. You must not forget the harness next time_

Andeen, greatly daring, patted Derenth's smooth warm skin.

"I bet he told you off! You look just like pa did, when ma told him off!"

His voice wobbled on the last words, and he clamped his jaw shut, and B'lan patted his shoulder awkwardly, as Derenth launched, not upwards, but out into the open space above the bowl of Igen Weyr, to angle down to the dark opening of his home space.


	2. Chapter 2

The rider takes his attitude from his dragon in a way, and since Derenth is a lazy dragon, the rider might be as well, so B'lar needs something to jolt him into life again.

Once again, I don't own Pern, but I do own this little journey into it's byways.

B'lan attended training the next day. Derenth was a large dragon, but as a Blue he seldom had the stamina to fly a full Fall, and with the Blues and Greens B'lan took part in flights where they practiced short rotations, flying with different coloured bandings on their leathers to identify them to each other. Derenth was pleased to be flying, B'lan knew, but he also knew his dragon was just as happy lazing in the hot sand or bathing himself in the sun-warmed waters of the lake.

They landed in neat formation, and Derenth flipped his wings together and watched as the next flight took off. Sand rose in clouds, swirled by the wing action, and B'lan pulled his scarf over his mouth, blinking in reflex action even though he wore goggles. The only problem with putting down was the heat through his leather flying gear; he could feel himself sweating already.

_- we will go between and cool ourselves_

_- you will stay in formation at all times_

That was Gyarmath, the Weyrleader's bronze, and Derenth threw up his head but did not answer the big dragon. B'lan patted his dragon's neck, grinning ruefully. G'narish was a stern taskmaster of all the dragons in his care. They had been fighting Thread all their lives, in the last Pass and in this one. The only difference was that in that Pass their weyrs had been a lot more comfortable.

"I still wonder where I left that scarf," B'lan said out loud, referring to a favoured item of clothing he had inexplicably lost in the transit from then to now.

_- get someone to weave you another, they weave marvellous things in this time_

"How would you know that?"

_- dragons talk_

It was their turn to take off again and the pair concentrated on keeping formation with Saventh and Spelith, the two greens that flanked them in the flight. In the past it would have been Narath there, but Narath had gone _between_ when his rider L'dor had been killed last year. B'lan shivered with remembered sorrow, because he and L'dor had been casual bedmates for the last ten years since they had both Impressed.

_- the weyrlings come_

B'lar peered down, and it seemed practice was over, because the weyrlings were coming at a run with buckets and brushes. Derenth circled down in his own tight spiral to the lake and splashed into the water almost before B'lan was off his shoulders.

The blue rider stood stripping off his leathers, running a hand through his soaking hair, and G'narish was striding towards him.

"That was well flown, B'lan," he said. "I want you to take station with those two greens in the next Fall. That won't be today, but I'd like you to ride an errand for me to Igen Hold once Derenth is rested."

"I'll do that, Weyrleader. How d'you think the weyrlings are shaping?"

"Very well. You sit with M'dill the Weyrling Master at table? What does he say?"

B'lan shrugged. "They're a good lot of boys, he says. Given that it's only three years since we arrived, most of them seem to have shaken off their fear about the place."

"Coming up to what was once considered haunted, you mean?"

"Probably took it as a rite of passage," B'lan agreed. Derenth was coming out of the water, giving way to other dragons, and B'lan picked up his gear and together they flew up to the ledge in front of their weyr. B'lan went in search of oil to massage into the dragon's hide as Derenth lay on the ledge, huffing up little circles of dust from his nostrils as he lidded his eyes.

"Lazybones," B'lan said as he rubbed oil into joints and the thinner wing skin.

_- it's warm_

"It's always warm! This is Igen."

_- it was cold then, too cold, I didn't like it_

"But you kept up with the others."

_- Gyarmath said to keep up_

There was no useful answer to that, B'lan reflected. He put the oil away and came to sit in the shade of his dragon, thinking back to those desperate leaps through time, coming out to see the Red Star rising again through the Star Stones and to face another fifty Turns of fighting Thread.

"Dragons must fly, when Thread is in the sky," he murmured sleepily. "What are you watching?"

_- the boy is being attacked_

"What?"

B'lar sat up abruptly and peered down into the bowl of the Weyr. The weyrlings had gone, and the kitchen drudges were busy, trundling around on their kitchen duties. Down in a corner of the bowl one boy was backed up against an ash heap, and three others were tossing cinders at him as he hopped and dodged.

"Is that Andeen? The boy with one eye?"

_- it is he, and he cannot watch all of them_

B'lar took the path down from the weyr at what he knew was a crazy speed, but something in him had been roused by seeing the boys tormenting another. In his mind he flashed back to his childhood when he had been the one picked on by three elder brothers because he had been smaller and weaker. He well knew the coppery taste of blood from a punch in the mouth, the stinging feeling in the scalp from hair pulled out, the agony of kicked ankles.

Arriving at the ash heap he realised why the bullies were using this corner; it was only visible from the bank of dragon weyrs, and most dragons were indifferent to the comings and going to the weyrfolk.

B'lar picked up one boy and whirled him to one side, letting him drop onto his backside with a yell of startlement, and the other two boys took one look at the furious dragonrider and ran off, darting down a tunnel that probably led to the kitchens. Up on his ledge, Derenth was flapping his wings and snaking his neck, and B'lar took a moment to calm himself, shake himself out of anger and send soothing thoughts to his dragon.

"Up you get, youngster. That's a nasty gash! That was never a cinder."

"I c - cut my hand - running - through the tunnel. I c - can't judge distances so good any more, since the eye went."

"That isn't from birth, then? Down here, let's find some water for that cut. And you'll need clean clothes. The only blessing of Igen is that your clothes will dry quick!"

"I don't have many spares. Ma tries to alter the stuff pa left, but I'm too tall and thin."

"Hand me downs," B'lar nodded. "I know it well, youngster, I had two older brothers and never a new stitch on my back until I Impressed."

"Are they - back there?"

"Yes. Once you Impress you don't take account of your birth family any more, y'know, your dragon and your wing is all your life, but that don't mean you can't remember them. And the nasty tricks they got up to."

"Even on you?"

"I was as puny as you when I was your age," B'lar replied as they came out of the cool tunnel into the kitchens. B'lar grabbed at the nearest drudge and demanded to know where the hot water and salves were kept, and a tall well built woman was coming across the kitchen.

"Andeen? What's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"He's cut his hand, Mistress, and been set on," B'lar said bluntly. "Hot water and salves and some fresh clothes."

"I've got duties - "

"Not with bloody hands," B'lar said firmly. "I don't want to taste your blood in my food tonight, youngster."

"Through here, dragonrider. Sit down, Andeen, let me see."

B'lar watched as Andeen's mother washed his hands and put numbweed on the cleaned up graze and jagged corner of a tear in his skin. The boy had good hands, B'lar thought with approval, well shaped nails, and remembered Andeen had said he liked to write.

"Do you sing, youngster?"

Andeen looked up in startlement.

"Sing? No, dragonrider, not now my voice is starting to break. You can't, y'see, or it'll spoil. Why?"

"I wondered if you'd do better as a Harper apprentice."

"Better than what? A kitchen drudge? Anything must be better than that," Andeen said, and his voice was bitter as he stood up and went in search of clean clothes. B'lar watched him go, frowning, and the woman tidied everything away.

"Thank you for rescuing my son, dragonrider," she said formally. "I'll thank you to keep your distance from him, in the future."

B'lar stared at her in puzzlement, and then realised what she was saying.

"I ain't after him, Mistress," he said crossly. "I might ride a blue, but that don't mean what you think it means. At least - not unless there's a green rising - and even then - it don't always mean that either - there's only one blue can catch and mate a green - there's other ways of - of - "

He sputtered to a halt, aware that he was probably scarlet in the face, and that Derenth was pacing his ledge, and he sent more hurried and soothing thoughts. The woman was studying him carefully, and now nodded.

"I'm sorry. Since I came to the Weyr, and they were kind enough to give me work and to give Andeen some education, I've become aware of - ways of living - that wouldn't be allowed in cot or hold. I shouldn't leap to conclusions."

"I did have a male friend," B'lar said. "I wouldn't lie to you, Mistress, but it was never a constant thing. He died a year ago, and Derenth - well - he might be big, but he's a lazy slob too lazy to catch a green, to mate."

"Don't you mind?"

"I don't know that I do," B'lar said after a moment's thought. "When he rises with intent, that'll be time enough to decide what to do. But your son - he's a clever lad, isn't he? Writing - I can read and write after a fashion, but not many can. With your leave, I'll keep an eye out for him around the Weyr. If Derenth takes a fancy to him, I can't help but do the same, y'know."

"Do dragons take an interest in people? Other than their riders?"

"They might do, they might favour one or other of the weyrlings, f'r instance, to clean them up after Threadfall."

They moved apart then, and B'lar went out of the kitchens, making his way to the dining hall where he took a mug of _klah_ to a table and sat down, thinking about the ways a clever boy might be protected and encouraged.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't own Pern, but I'm beginning to get quite fond of Igen!

B'lan looked up as G'narish and M'dill came in, and brought their mugs of _klah _over to his table.

"Weyrleader. Weyrling Master"

"B'lan. I've that message ready if you can fly to Igen Hold?"

"We can go as soon as you like. Am I waiting for a reply?"

"Not in this instance, no. There's no rush about it, though."

B'lan took that to mean he did not need to time his return, but he forbore to mention that he hardly ever timed it anyway; Derenth did not like it, and by extension his unease spread to his rider.

"How are you getting on with the other riders in your wing?" M'dill asked. "The two greens seem to have taken up with Derenth. He's older by a few Turns, and considerably bigger."

"He likes them both. You'll be wanting to put the first weyrlings into the wings soon? Some of those from the first hatching three years ago must be ready?"

"Yes, I've a core of maybe five who will be spread around the wings when we get minor Threadfall, to try them out," M'dill confirmed. "I'd be pleased if you kept an eye on them?"

"I will, so far as I'm able."

They finished their drinks, talking over the minutiae of the Weyr which was always of interest to riders, and then G'narish stood up.

"I need to spend some time with Nadira," he announced. "We were just putting in some improvements when we came forward - I think she wants them finished soon."

B'lan grinned at him, because the entire Weyr had heard Nadira's shrieks of horror and fury when they came in for the final time and settled back into their weyrs. B'lan's weyr had been cold and dusty, with small animal bones crunching underfoot, but a quick sweep through had cleared the worst of it, and he had been able to lay his sleeping furs and go and collect sand for Derenth's ledge where generations of dragons had worn hollows to fit their shape. Beyond that, he had not bothered overmuch, being used to the colours in bare rock walls.

B'lan collected his flying gear and harness straps, and spent some time checking them over before taking the message pouch for Igen Hold. He found he was looking forward to the trip; he had not been out of the Weyr for a year or more, and although he liked the austere desert fortress and the unexpected valleys of sweet grass to its north where they shaded into Telgar, a trip outside was always welcome.

"B'lar! Are you going to the Hold?"

He turned as the Headwoman Canna came out of the caverns.

"I am, with a message from the Weyrleader. Have you a commission as well?"

"Would you leave this package with their Healer? It seems we can be of use up here in our fastnesses."

B'lar smiled at her sarcasm.

"Of course we can be of use, even if only for coloured sands!"

"Thanks, B'lan. If you see any fishermen, you might mention we haven't any salted fish?"

"I'll do that."

He mounted Derenth and they launched with a wave of the fist for the Watchdragon and his rider.

_- do you like salt fish?_

"No, not particularly. Fresh would be tasty."

_- Keroon and Nerat are close by_

"We'll see."

The usual three breaths of mind-numbing cold later, and they emerged over Igen Hold, and signalled their arrival to the Watchman. There was no Thread expected here today, B'lar reminded himself, but nevertheless he looked into the East as they circled downwards. Other Weyrs would be coping with today's Fall, but with luck most of it would fall into the seas.

Derenth took off again to settle with the Watchman and B'lar realised there were two other dragons up there as well; it would be crowded. He set off for the Hold and found a serving man to direct him to the Lord Holder's place.

He looked around with interest at the busy Hold. It was at least as hot here as in the Weyr, but being lower it was muggy and sticky as well, without the harsh drying desert winds, and he found he was sweating inside his leathers, even though he had taken off helmet gloves and scarf.

The Lord Holder was holding some sort of court, B'lar found, and a servant stopped him walking up to him.

"The Benden Weyrleader is here," he said officiously. "You can leave your message here."

"My Weyrleader wanted me to give it to the Lord Holder."

"He's too busy at the moment."

"Then I'll wait," B'lar said, and sat down on one of the ornate wooden chairs in the Hall. It had a comfortable seat where he was used to wood and stone, and he spread his long legs and folded his arms over the message pouch, staring around once again. The Hall was decorated with wood, a lot more wood than he had ever seen in one place together, and there were cloth curtains at the deep windows, and cloth rugs on the floor. _Cloth, wood, leather, just the thing for a stray Thread to find and enjoy._ The window shutters were metal, he was pleased to see, but they looked cumbersome and difficult to set in place, even with the number of servants bustling around trying to look busy. Two young boys were staring curiously at him, and came across the Hall.

"Hullo! You're from Igen Weyr? Is that your blue dragon?"

"Yes, Derenth's my dragon. Have you ever been to Igen Weyr?"

"It was empty when we were born," they told him, and B'lar realised with an uncomfortable jolt of disjointure that these boys had been born in this time.

"We've nearly 300 dragons up there, and a clutch hardening on the sands," he said. "Maybe you'll be coming to watch the Hatching, if you're part of the Lord Holder's family?"

"We're his foster sons. Our father was his cousin."

"Nice for you, to be with family. Do you know if the Healer is hereabouts? I've a package for him as well."

"He's with Uncle, over there, with the Benden Weyrleader as well. That's the Benden Weyrleader looking at us."

B'lar looked across the room, and the Benden Weyrleader had left the conference table and was walking down the hall towards him. Instinctively, B'lar stood up and bowed.

"Lord F'lar."

"Greetings to you, dragon rider. From Igen Weyr?"

"I've messages, but the Lord Holder seems too busy - "

He found himself being towed across the Hall and surmised that the Benden Weyrleader was only too pleased to break up the discussions.

"I've a message pouch from my Weyrleader, m'lord, and another for your Healer. No need for me to wait on an answer, my Weyrleader says."

Lord Laudey stared at the pouch as if it contained poison, and B'lar bowed and took himself off, smiling a little. Something sour to digest for the Lord Holder, he thought accurately, and went in search of someone who might know where salt fish could be bought or traded. He found F'lar at his elbow, drawing on his gloves.

"I've not been to Igen Weyr recently. Is everyone settling in?"

"Weyrwoman doesn't care for the state it was in, but we're beginning to get it straight again, plastering and whitening the walls, putting down rugs, that sort of thing."

"Glass in the windows?"

B'lar looked sharply at him. "Where did you hear that from, Weyrleader? Yes, there's quite a bit of glass around, young dragonets practice on the sands, see, and it turns into a sort of glass, that can be ground down and polished. It doesn't let in much light, but it keeps the sandy winds out of the main rooms. I don't bother - when Derenth's asleep on his ledge nothing can get past him!"

F'lar laughed. "He's a big blue! Just about the biggest I've seen."

B'lar nodded. "He's all of that, Weyrleader."

B'lar watched him climb athletically up to the Watchtower, speak to the guards up there, and then the huge bronze, the biggest Pern had ever produced, so it was said, took to the skies and winked out of existence with his brown companion following in a heartbeat.

"Excuse me! Are you the blue rider from Igen Weyr?"

B'lar brought his gaze down from the skies and blinked to clear them, seeing a woman in front of him, well dressed, and he bobbed a bow.

"Yes ma'am. Can I help you?"

"There's a Harper somewhere in the Hold who's supposed to be going around the Weyrs. If you find him, can you give him a flight to Igen?"

"Be pleased to, ma'am. Will he have new songs?"

"Yes, and news of the wider concerns of our world."

"Always pleased to hear those, ma'am."

He watched her move away, admiring her, and then went to seek the Harper, but it appeared the man had gone down to the sea coast on a fish wagon. They shrugged when asked to describe the cove, and said it was just another cove with a jetty and a village, and B'lar gave up and went up to collect Derenth and speak to the guard on watch.

"The Harper? He wanted sea songs, and I gave him directions - will your dragon take my directions?"

Derenth swung his head and B'lar received a confused impression that suddenly sharpened into focus and B'lar described it back.

"That's the place! There's a nice village and a jetty there, they run a half dozen fishing boats out into Nerat Bay."

B'lar thanked him and mounted onto Derenth, settling himself into the straps.

- _there was no one there, then_

"I know, I know. But it is the same place? Is it safe to try and go _between_ to get there? It won't have changed too much?"

_- the rocks remain_

B'lar took firm hold, and Derenth launched upwards, circling to catch a thermal, and then took them _between_, coming out of it to hover above the cliffs and beaches, the waves cresting and falling in the bright sunlight, seeing the changes to the beaches they had favoured for basking and swimming.


	4. Chapter 4

When he bestirs himself, B'lar is obviously a capable and able man. You all want to know why he's earned the epithet of lazy? Have to wait, I'm afraid!

Pern was created for us by Anne McCaffrey, but we can play with her world.

You will see I've changed the rating of this story to T. I want to be on the safe side in case I want to develop any issues that might be implied by a blue dragonrider.

B'lar looked around with surprised approval at the village and jetty. This cove had always been sheltered, with a good deep stretch of beach before the cliffs, and the people who had settled had taken advantage of the current and the prevailing winds to build their jetty to provide shelter for the fishing fleet. The tide was on the turn, B'lar considered, and the fishing boats dotted out on the horizon would be making their way back inshore before nightfall.

People had come out of the cottages and were staring up at him as Derenth circled, and the dragon landed neatly on the shore, allowing B'lar to slide off his back and begin walking along the shelf of rocks towards the jetty. He greeted the man waiting for him, explaining he was looking for the Harper.

"Oh - that one - poking and prying and asking questions all the time."

"That's what Harpers do, isn't it? I've a general invitation to take him off your hands to visit Igen Weyr."

"Is that where you're from? A change from this sea coast!"

"I used to come here to bathe my dragon - back then. I wouldn't do it now - is the next cove still empty?"

The fisherman nodded.

"We tried to use it, but the cliffs aren't safe - you'll remember that, I'm sure. Slippages after rain, and the rocky bottom's too treacherous for a boat to be pulled up safely. Deep water, though, just offshore."

"Yes, I remember that. I've a few hours leisure - we'll maybe go and swim. Once I've spoken to the Harper."

They walked up through the shelves of cottages, half dug into the hard rock of the cliffs, all of them with stone and metal shutters, stone roofs with a deep overhang.

"Do you grow food?"

"Most of us have a tub or two of greens. Easy to haul indoors in a storm or when there's Threadfall, although with the dragons blazing away up there in the sky, we're double protected. Manin! Where's that dratted Harper got to?"

"Gone to visit Old Uncle Rabil, I think."

"That grey cottage up there, then. Anything else I can do for you, dragonrider?"

"You wouldn't have any fish to sell? The Headwoman at the Weyr asked about salt or smoked fish, but a few fresh would go down well."

"We had a good run after the last Threadfall. There's fish smoking in the bins. What sort of price would you be offering?"

B'lar stared at him.

"Er - I wouldn't know that! Can I tell the Headwoman, maybe she can come down and negotiate a price with you? Do you have contacts you sell to?"

"I do, yes, but I'm always open to a good bargain."

B'lar walked up the steep path to the cottage where the Harper might be found, thinking about Canna driving a bargain with the fisherman, and hoping he would be the one escorting her.

"Hello - anyone in?"

The cottage was dark after the sunlight, and B'lar blinked as he stepped in. A woman was seated by the hearth, knitting, and two men sat at a table, one elderly, one younger, perhaps B'lar's age.

"Good day, Mistress. B'lar, blue rider of Igen Weyr. Looking for a Harper."

"That's me, dragonrider, Marik's the name. Is there a problem?"

"I'm told you want to visit Weyrs."

B'lar noticed the wary cautious look Marik gave him, and wondered what half-truths were about to be unfolded.

"I have been told to visit them, yes, by the Master Harper. To widen my experience and knowledge of dragronrider songs, home-grown ones, possibly."

"We know our teaching ballads," B'lar responded. "If you want a flight to Igen Weyr, I'll be over in the next cove for an hour or so, before the tide comes in too far."

He nodded to the woman, who had not ceased her knitting even as she had watched the interplay. Standing outside, B'lar frowned, and then shook his head; if Marik had secrets, they would soon be winkled out of him by Canna or Nadira, the poor soul wouldn't stand a chance.

Grinning, B'lar made his way along the cliff top, his unruly hair blown into tangles by the wind. Derenth was already in the cove, mincing along the sand and peering into the rockpools, shading them from the sun with an outstretched wingtip.

"Spiderclaws!" B'lar exclaimed, and hurried down the cliff path to join his dragon in an enjoyable hunt for the edibles they remembered along this coast. This cove had extensive rock pools and back eddies, and B'lar pocketed several unusually shaped stones and shells to put in his weyr as the two of them tracked slowly back and forth, retreating up the beach as the tide came in.

B'lar stripped off and swam, and Derenth splashed in the water beside him, using the deeper channels to submerge himself and float in the salty water. B'lar could feel things nibbling at him, small fish perhaps, attracted by the detritus from his skin as he scrubbed himself with salty sand from the floor of the cove, diving down to fetch a handful now and again, and scrub at Derenth when he requested it.

- _someone comes_

B'lar rolled over and saw the Harper Marik on the cliff top. He waved, and the Harper waved back, and sat down.

_- he has bundles with him_

"Good. We don't need to go back to the Hold to collect his stuff."

_- he comes with us? Will he sing for us?_

"That's what Harpers generally do. I wonder why he's out here footloose, though? It's a bit vague - visit the Weyrs - I would have thought the Master Harper would have a more specific role for him."

_- Creline?_

"Creline is 400 Turns in the past, Derenth, the Master Harper of Pern is called Robinton in this Pass."

_- I forgot_

B'lar waded out of the water, and Derenth exploded out of it, showering him with water as he winged upwards, drying himself in the sun, and then wheeling down towards the cliff top.

"And if you can withstand that, you're a better man that I thought you, Harper Marik," B'lar muttered as he dried himself and pulled on his clothes, picked up the bag of spiderclaws, and began climbing the cliff path.


	5. Chapter 5

The disjunction of time passing is something I'm particularly interested in, although the dragon riders would probably claim to live only in the here and now.

Once again, I did not invent Pern, but I like playing there.

Marik was crouched in the grass when B'lar reached him. Derenth was watching him, but the Harper did not seem to be frightened or angry by the dragon's attention. B'lar stood watching him for a moment, assessing him in daylight, seeing a slenderness about him that told of too little food, or perhaps too much nervous energy expended. His hair was thinning already, showing the bones of his head, and his clothes were as much a disaster as those B'lar usually wore, unironed, frayed around the button holes, with mismatched laces on his shoes.

"You found me, then, Harper," B'lar said, and Marik tore his gaze away from fascinated contemplation of Derenth.

"Yes. The next cove, they said - I'd not seen this one - they don't fish out of it?"

"Not as useful to men as the one with the village. But good for dragons, being able to dive and swim in deeper water."

"I would have thought they'd prefer fresh water?"

"Oh yes, and there's a lake at Igen for all it's in the desert. Salt water is good for the skin, in small doses. Is this all your goods? What did you? Rob the Hold?"

Marik spread a hand defensively over the two lumpy sacks.

"The Archivist was throwing stuff out, said it was too old to keep, that they probably had fresher copies. So I asked for them - I said I could scrape the parchment down, perhaps, and reuse it."

"Writings, eh? Well, we've an older rider who likes to look at those. He's appointed himself our Archivist if you will. And I know of a young lad who'd like to train as an Archivist. What about your own stuff?"

"This bag, and that one."

"Lap harp? I do like a bit of harp music with the songs of an evening."

"Yes."

"All right then. The Weyrleader said we'd all day, but I don't want to get caught in the dark. Up you get. Fetch out your warmest jacket, gloves if you have them."

Marik had gloves and a thick hide jacket that B'lar approved, as he climbed into his own flying gear.

"I'm sweating inside this!"

"You'll soon feel the need for them. Even without going _between_, it's cold up there in the sky."

"_Between_? You'll go _between_?"

B'lar noted the high squeak of his voice, almost a panicked reaction, but reminded himself there had been only the Benden dragons in generations, and doubtful if they had been welcomed except in their own area.

"Certain sure we will. You'll mount here, and buckle those straps around you. Your two bags over your shoulders and held to the front. Derenth will take the archives. Faugh! Firestone sacks! That won't make the parchment smell any sweeter!"

B'lar hauled himself up and hung the sack of spiderclaws from his harness, buckled his helmet and wrapped his scarf around Marik's head and throat, wishing the Harper had more than just this jacket, wondering where his proper outdoor clothes might be, a cloak, maybe a waterproof, a hat and decent boots.

They came up off the ground and B'lar had put up a hand to protect Marik's head from cracking into his own chin, and then the Harper settled himself and gripped the harness straps, and Derenth, burdened with the two sacks, flicked into _between_ and out again over the Weyr.

B'lar glanced down and around, seeing the Weyrlings in practice flight, with the Wing Leaders looking after them and directing them, and a lot of people moving around the weyrs and bowl. Derenth winged slowly down to the main grounds and landed, flipping his wings neatly.

"What's happening?" Marik asked. "All those people in groups - "

_- Cereneth rose_

"Cereneth? Did you know she was nearly ready?"

_- I knew. I wanted to swim_

B'lar frowned at his dragon, and Derenth swung his head to survey him, his multi-facetted eyes whirling. B'lar shrugged and helped Marik down.

"A green dragon rose on a mating flight," he said briefly. "That's the aftermath, now she's mated and returned."

"Oh. I've never seen a mating flight."

"You'll probably see several if you stay long enough."

"But - your dragon is blue - shouldn't he have - risen - as well?"

"He said he didn't want to. He very rarely rises to a green, Harper, and no-one's ever had a satisfactory answer from him as to why. There's the Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman - you'd best go and introduce yourself - give me those bags, Derenth."

B'lar busied himself undoing and coiling the harness, and Derenth winged up to their weyr. B'lar stood watching him, frowning again, shaking his head, and M'dill came over.

"You weren't around for the flight?"

"Derenth said he wanted to swim. Cereneth is very young - was it long?"

"Not long, no. What did you bring - or should I say - who did you bring?"

"A young Harper with secrets."

"He'll not last long!"

M'dill turned back to watch his Weyrlings in their formations, and B'lar took the bags into the kitchens, and found Canna.

"Spiderclaws! Good of you, B'lar!"

"Only a few to get the taste, I'm afraid, but there's a fisherman willing to negotiate a price for a catch of smoked fish."

"I'll ask permit of the Weyrleader to go down and negotiate. There's Thread tomorrow, it'll have to wait for that."

B'lar hefted the other two bags and went in search of the self-styled Archivist, finding him in the records rooms. There were glows uncovered on the tables, and P'ndin looked up. He was one of the oldest riders in the Weyr, and rode a brown that was almost grey with age.

"B'lar. Is there some message?"

"No, no message. I brought a Harper from Igen Hold, and their Archivist was throwing out some old records. The Harper rescued them with the thought that the parchment might be scraped down again."

"A good thought! I could do with new parchment, never mind scraped down stuff. I'm told the Master Craftsmen have new materials and new methods, but they don't reach as far as Igen, I'm afraid."

B'lar loosened the knots with difficulty, resolving to teach the Harper some quick-release knots, and scooped the documents out onto the table.

A stench of dust and firestone residue arose, causing the two men to back away, and then the Archivist leaped and grabbed at something that looked like a box. He put hands on it, wiped the dust of old parchments and neglect from it.

"Old things, things they were going to throw away," he said in a harsh whisper. "It's not even ten Turns since I made that for the Lord Holder of Igen for his daughter's wedding!"


	6. Chapter 6

We start to get to the crux of the matter now.

Thanks for your kind words and reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying this little trek into the byways of Anne McCaffrey's creation.

B'lar stared at the ornately carved box.

"I did the little drawings and paintings for you," he said out of a tight throat.

"Yes you did. She was beautiful. So beautiful. She had had three daughters, far too quickly, so I heard, before we left."

P'nden slipped the metal catches and opened the box. It had been made so well that even after hundreds of Turns, very little dust had collected on the dark red leather cover of the book with its jewelled and enamelled surface. P'nden lifted the book out using the ribbons left for that purpose, and B'lar cleared a space and put a clean parchment for P'nden to put the book down.

The old dragonrider turned the pages, and they both looked at the thing of beauty they had laboured over, the tiny painted dragons cavorting in the sky, the landscapes of Hold and Weyr.

"_Old Tales My Grandfather Told Me_, that was what I titled it, and my grandfather had lived through the end of the Interval, and was a learned and clever man."

"I only knew a few of them, the most popular ones, the ones about Red Hanrahan, and the tales of the early settlers."

P'nden shook his head. "He'd spent years travelling and collecting these tales. I had another, rougher, copy - I brought it with me - with his own handwriting in it."

"I know a boy in this Weyr who would like to help you make any fresh copies," B'lar said. "Put this one away, P'nden, it's too precious to expose to daylight. Copy from your original."

"Copy? Why should I copy again?"

B'lar straightened up and began tidying. He folded the firestone sacks to be put with their own supplies. He put the tied scrolls of parchment on one side, the fragments of written hide on another.

"Why should I copy?" P'nden insisted.

"Because these people have lost it all," B'lar said slowly. "You know Weyrwoman Lessa came back to fetch us - and we came with no hesitation. The world has moved on, P'nden, but so much seems to have been lost! The Lord Holders increased themselves at the expense of Crafthalls, Harper Hall and Healer Hall, from what I understand from the staff in the Lower Caverns. Wood - they planted trees where we remember bare land. They mined, and made a wasteland of what our forefathers planted for food. They forgot, P'nden."

The older rider stared at him, still touching the book, and then he nodded.

"You're right. I'll put this one away. If the Lord Holder threw it out, then it belongs to me again, as far as I'm concerned. I'll sort through those other things they thought were rubbish, as well. Who's this boy you say can help me?"

"Andeen. He's been in the Lower Caverns for a Turn or two, since his carter father died."

"Is that the one-eyed boy? Well - he'll never Impress, I suppose, but if he has a fondness for the written word - "

"He goes up to the heights of the rimwall for the red ochre up there."

P'nden laughed.

"Any so did many another of us! And for the coloured sands of the desert to make pretties for our sweethearts! I wonder if anyone blows those heart-shaped glass baubles any more? You remember they cost a bit!"

"I remember. We had to leave so many of our personal belongings behind - I wonder if anyone brought one of those with them?"

"If they did, the glass workers might like to see them."

Looking more cheerful, P'nden helped to unroll the first parchment.

"Hmm. Recipes by the look of it. These aren't old! This parchment might have been used a few times, but it's not old. I'll see if Canna wants these."

"These are poems. Love poems, and very badly written at that. Harper Hall might make a use of them."

They continued to sort through, and P'nden shook his head, rubbing his hands down his jacket.

"Just rubbish, really, as they said. But we can probably use the parchments again, and this book - is mine again."

"I'll take the sacks down to the store. Shall I send Andeen up to you?"

"If you would. Let me take his measure, and we'll see. I could do with some help, it's true, because I suspect there will be edicts and measures coming out of Benden to help us control Thread better this time around."

B'lar made his way down through the caverns and tunnels to the stores and left the sacks there, and went back to the Lower Caverns. He needed hot water and strong soap to wash the firestone stink from his hands, and found a sink and a kettle of water.

"B'lar. Where have you been? To the seaside by the smell?"

He turned and smiled rather shyly at Atrea.

"That I have, Mistress. I had things to deliver to the Lord Holder, and took the opportunity to go down to a cove I know of, for Derenth to have a swim."

"Oh! The spiderclaws? Grand eating, even if only a mouthful each tonight."

"A taste of the sea. Did you go often to the coast?"

"We went maybe once or twice a year, crossing over Igen and Telgar's coasts. Dena's father and family had been over in Keroon generations ago, so he said."

"Not west to Ruatha and Fort?"

She shook her head.

"No, they kept to this central part. I hear you brought a Harper with you? Will he sing for his supper, do you think?"

"I hope so. A new voice would be pleasant. Mistress - is Andeen around the place?"

"Why?"

He noted her caution, and shook his head.

"Brown rider P'nden would like to see him, up in the records rooms, maybe offer him a bit of copying work. The Harper brought some old parchments from the Hold and they should be copied, maybe. Between the three of them, they'd make short work of it."

"He's helping out somewhere. I'll send him up there. Those three haven't bothered him again, by the way."

"Good! Let's keep it that way."

B'lar considered his duties done after that. He scooped up a meatroll from the platter, and a piece of fruit, and made his way across the bowl and up the path to his weyr. Derenth was lying on his ledge, eyes lidded in sleep, and B'lar went in to hang up his jacket, change his shirt, set out his shells and stones on the shelf. He would get some red ochre his own self, he considered, and make a nice drawing of the seashore to back those shells and stones, to remind himself of the sea when he was dry and dusty in this weyr.

It seemed a heartbeat of sleep before B'lar woke to find Derenth prodding him. The dragon withdrew his clawed foreleg as B'lar sat up, running a hand through his tangled hair and blinking at the strong evening light.

_- they gather for a meal_

"Are you hungry?"

_- I ate fish_

B'lar stood up and brushed himself down, found a comb and dragged it ruthlessly through his hair.

_- that hurts you. Why do you not have bare skin?_

"Thanks! And then I'd be oiling it all the time - do you itch?"

_- the sea was good_

"Derenth - Cereneth rose - "

_- I was swimming_

The dragon turned away and lidded his eyes again, and B'lar shook his head and made his way down the shadowed path, wondering if Derenth would ever rise again. In the ten Turns since Impression, the blue had caught and mated Narath a few times, and some of the other greens, but B'lar had never been caught up in a sexual frenzy such as he witnessed when the bronzes rose to the golden queens. Greens were infertile due to chewing firestone, so maybe that was part of the reason. Or perhaps, as people had always told him, Derenth was just lazy.

Coming into the dining hall, B'lar glanced around and then made his way to the table where K'lan, rider of green Spelith was signalling. J'vion, Saventh's rider, and D'mion, rider of the mated Cereneth, looking heavy eyed and moving his shoulders carefully, also sat at the table and B'lar slipped into the empty place.

"Where did you disappear to?" J'vion asked.

"I was on a task for the Weyrleader, down to the Hold, and I visited the coast."

"Didn't Derenth want to rise with Cereneth?"

"He said not. He said he was swimming."

D'mion shook his head.

"We thought now L'dor was gone, we'd get a look in with you."

B'lar paused in wrapping bread around a slice of meat, and looked across with a frown.

"What d'you mean?"

"Come on! L'dor warned us all off enough times! He said you were his."

B'lar flung the food down, spattering himself and his neighbours, jerked to his feet, and glared across the table.

"He said what?" he thundered, and heads turned to look at them.

"Calm down! Sit down! B'lar, you're making a show of yourself!"

"Calm down! I won't calm down until you tell me what you meant by that!"

He leaned across towards D'mion, clenched fists around the edge of the table. The green rider shrank back, shaking his head.

"It was - he always s - said it," he stuttered. "That he'd marked you as his - you were his lover - "

B'lar gave a roar of fury and flung the entire table upwards and outwards. Riders scattered as the blue rider flung himself on D'mion. They rolled on the floor and dragons bugled from outside on their weyr ledges as people ran separate the two.

B'lar sat back hard and shook his head as someone slapped his face and kneed him in the chest. He gasped for air and looked up at the Weyrleader.

"That's better! Someone give me an explanation of this! You two - pick up the table and get someone to clear up that mess!"

B'lar drew a deeper breath and prudently stayed seated on the floor.

"You! J'vion! What happened?"

"D'mion was saying - was saying - he'd hoped Derenth would mate Cereneth, so's B'lar would - would - "

He tailed off into an uneasy silence, looking from the Weyrleader to B'lar's angry face.

"Riders don't usually have a choice of their mating partners," G'narish said. "It's up to the green dragon, and which blue or brown catches her."

"Y - yes I know. Usually - "

G'narish turned to look at D'mion who was mopping up blood from a nosebleed.

"Usually? This isn't the place for this discussion! Get D'mion cleaned up and I'll see all four of you in my weyr, soonest."


	7. Chapter 7

Well! I certainly didn't see that ending coming! My notes were off in a completely different direction! But you can't argue when your characters take charge of the story. There might be a sequel to this one, though.

My thanks to Anne McCaffrey for giving me the framework to play on.

B'lar and the other three made their way up to the Weyrleader's quarters in silence. D'mion had had to change his shirt and the other three had waited for him. They trod in single file, not touching, not making eye contact, and entered G'narish's quarters to find the Weyrleader already there, with a stylus and parchment to make notes.

"Sit over there, all of you. D'mion - all right?"

"I'll be fine for tomorrow, Weyrleader."

"You'll be carting sacks, not flying a pattern," G'narish replied. "Cereneth will be too lethargic for anything else, and I don't want to risk either of you."

D'mion nodded his acceptance of that, and G'narish looked at the other two green riders.

"You performed well in exercises with B'lar. Can you replicate that tomorrow, or do I split you up?"

"In Threadfall, Weyrleader, all else is put aside," J'vion said.

"Good. Now then. What was all that about at dinner? B'lar?"

"D'mion said L'dor warned all the green riders off me."

G'narish frowned at him.

"Warned them off you? What did he mean by that?"

"I don't know. They obviously do, because D'mion said he'd hoped Derenth would rise and mate with Cereneth."

"Would you have objected to that?"

B'lar frowned at him.

"Objected to it? It's the green's choice in the end, Weyrleader, who catches her in her flight. The riders - go along with it."

G'narish studied him, and then looked at the other three.

"I want to go back to the beginning, to the time all of you Impressed."

"K'lar and me were both brought up in the Weyr," J'vion said. "My father was a dragon rider, he was a fosterling."

"I was born here too, but my mother was only a drudge, my father must have been a rider, but she was always vague about him," D'mion said. "All three of us Impressed in the same clutch as B'lar."

"I came from Ista Weyr," B'lar said. "I was Searched from my home hold to there when I was 12, and I stood at four Impressions but nothing came of it. I was sent here to Igen, and I Impressed Derenth straight away, at my first standing."

His face reflected the wonder of that, and it was echoed in the gaze of the other riders. B'lar cleared his throat, thinking back.

"L'dor had Impressed in the previous clutch," he said at last. "The Queen was still laying pretty regularly, although it was coming to the end of the Pass."

G'narish made a note on his pad. "Igen only supports about three to four hundred dragons at any one time."

"Yes. As soon as Derenth came out of the shell, L'dor offered to help me."

"So you were what - 16 Turns?"

"About that, yes."

"And it took two Turns before Derenth rose to mate? He mated Narath?"

"Yes. He rose to a couple of other greens over the Turns, but usually - it was always Narath."

G'narish looked at the notes he had been making.

"And on those occasions, L'dor and you came together?"

B'lar nodded.

"And at other times? You were thought of - if not as a couple - then certainly as a pair who had an inclination to each other."

"He'd search me out occasionally," B'lar said reluctantly. "Usually - if the dragons weren't involved - it wasn't often - "

He faltered to a stop, looking away from them, and G'narish cleared his throat.

"B'lar - a blue dragonrider knows his dragon only rises to a green. You know that, and you know the way a Weyr is set up?"

"Yes, I know. I didn't at first, before I went to Ista, but the Weyrling Master explained it to me - to all of us - and that it wasn't like it was outside. He told us that outside - didn't count any more. He told us we had to forget how we had lived, how our family structure was. That - that - our dragons would be all-in-all to us. Well - I know that! I knew it from the instant of Impression, and I've never wanted anything else but Derenth, and his well-being."

"An unnecessary and unusually cruel way of putting it, but the truth, I suppose," G'narish said, making another note. "So you came from a hold. L'dor was a Search candidate as well, so I find from the records. He was a few Turns older than you, and like you he stood a few times before Impressing. But - and this is the vital difference - by the time he was twenty Turns - he was already sexually active. He'd be around and available at any dragon mating flight. And between times as well."

Silence fell, and B'lar stared at his hands, where he had clenched his fists on his thighs. Eventually he looked up again.

"I'm sorry, D'mion, I shouldn't have attacked you. But Derenth must have known Cereneth was about to rise, and he didn't object to being away from the Weyr."

"I think he picked up on your unease," G'narish said thoughtfully. "I think he realised your ambivalent attitude to green riders, and reined himself in. Hence the reputation both of you have acquired of being lazy. I don't think that myself, and it's a reputation you might shed over the years, B'lar, or you might cultivate it to get out of extra duties."

B'lar stared indignantly at him.

"I'm always willing to go the extra in any duties I'm assigned, Weyrleader!"

"And M'dill speaks highly of you and would like you to help him out as his assistant, perhaps taking his place in due course."

"There's others who speak highly of you as well," D'mion said. "You're known to be one to help with the injured, and with the elderly. L'dor - and that Weyrling Master - they masked you, B'lar, masked and manacled you."

B'lar looked around at the green riders.

"Derenth might not rise to any of you."

K'lar shrugged. "That's his choice, just as it's your choice to have a different kind of relationship that we would have, one with a woman. If there was someone you could explain the duality to, the way a blue dragonrider operates, and if she's willing, then - you need never - again - with any of us - "

B'lar knew he was blushing again, as the others nodded their agreement.

"Um - that's uncommon generous of you - K'lar - all of you. I'm sorry L'dor died, and Narath too, but I think - I grieved over them both - without realising why I felt so guilty at being relieved he had gone."

"And we can make a new start from now," G'narish said briskly. "This is a new Pass, and most of us will see more of fighting Thread than we'd bargained for when we Impressed! I give thanks to the Benden Weyr which was the only Weyr left to carry on after we came forward. I commend them for it. I think it must have been horribly difficult for them, but I think all of us have come out the stronger for it."

They stood up and saluted each other as equals, and B'lar trod down the stairs from the weyr and went in search of Derenth and an opportunity to begin a courtship of a woman he was sure would be able to understand him and the role he played in the guardianship of Pern.


End file.
